


Never Enough (for you)

by Techno_Zav



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Langst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techno_Zav/pseuds/Techno_Zav
Summary: Lance is afraid of dying.  Especially afraid of dying likethis, surrounded by blood and petals and the weight of inadequacy.It’s unfortunate, then, that Lance will never be good enough for Keith.Hanahaki Disease is an illness borne from unrequited love. Filling the lungs with roots,  flowers grow and germinate, threading their petals through every branch, every crevice, until the host can no longer breath and must cough it up. If left untreated, the disease, absorbed in blood and flesh and feeding off the suffering within, blocks the hosts airways with roots and flowers until the host dies. Unless the feelings are returned or the plants are surgically removed, this is the fate of all Hanahaki victims.





	1. End of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: graphic depictions of choking, suffocation, and being violently ill. Lance ends up happy (eventually) but this is largely a self-indulgent vent fic in which Lance is the unfortunate victim. 
> 
> Please take care of yourself while reading <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late summer morphs into early fall. 
> 
> Song rec: _Mt. Washington_ Local Natives
>
>>   
_Digging like you can bury_
>> 
>> _Something that cannot die_
>> 
>> _We could wash the dirt off our hands now_
>> 
>> _Keep it from living from underground _

It burns. 

Burns like nothing Lance has ever felt before. 

For months the burning has been there, not painful but present nevertheless, and he can feel it deep in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes it flares up and roars like a fire given oxygen, but that's just something he’s been learning to live with. 

He’ll be sitting here doing nothing one minute and the next, it flares up so bright it makes him want to run his fist through a wall. Makes him want to shrivel up under layers and layers of blankets in the comfort of his childhood bed and bawl his eyes out. 

It’s usually always worse when Lance is at school for the week, when he’s walking the streets with Hunk and Pidge and Keith, or when the gang is out together - like tonight - and he can see and smell and hear and feel all the groups of friends and all the couples around him laughing and touching and talking.

Today though, when he looks at Keith the burns feels like it’s brand new.

_Not good enough_ it seems to say. 

Lance tears his eyes away from where the bartender leans forward more than necessary as he slides the tray of drinks across the counter to Keith’s waiting hand. Looking away is futile, though, because Lance knows the flirtatious smirk is sitting on Keith’s face like it always is when they go out for drinks after exams. Knows that the bartender is letting Keith get away with not tipping (like the asshole he is) just because of the promised hook-up out back when he gets off shift in 20 or so. 

It’s no use looking when Lance has been in this position many times before. When he knows that even with his eyes closed, he can still picture and trace every line, every crinkle, every pore on that damn smirking face.

The thing is though, Lance wants to curl up and bawl his eyes out but he’s not sure what he’d actually be bawling about. He’s at a total loss as to what the source of this intense burning feeling really is. 

It’s not a feel good kind of burn, that’s for sure. It makes him weightless at the same time that it makes him feel really heavy. 

Makes the _you’re not good enough_ thoughts rise to the surface a little more than usual. 

It’s worse the days after he writes tough finals or the times where he stays up all night working through paper after paper. When he sits back and reads over what he just wrote or flips open the first page of his exam booklet and _not good enough_ is the first thought that surfaces. 

_Not good enough_, he thinks when he hands in the first big assignment of the season. 

_You’ll never be good enough_ when the midterm marks get posted. 

It burns and the intrusive thoughts are there, as they always have been, but Lance can usually push them down and ignore them enough to get on with the rest of his life. 

Today though…

_You’ll never amount to anything. _

A tough week of midterm exams can be pinned as the catalyst of it all, with the low hours of sleep, low hours of physical activity, and the grossly affectionate YA rom-com he watched last night not serving Lance any favors.

Yet, neither is the way Keith is looking grossly happy over there, chatting up the bartender as he fiddles with the drinks on the tray. 

See, Lance has known Keith since the first time he walked into their shared dorm room two years ago, and they’ve been roommates ever since and friends for probably ever after. 

It’s a good starting story but the problem lies within that last line: Friends, and only friends, for the rest of their existence. 

_Not good enough._

Lance dips his head and resumes peeling the flaking paint off the table. 

_Not good enough not good enough not good-_

“You good?” Keith asks as he approaches, setting the tray of drinks down and dropping into the opposite seat. 

And Lance burns. Tingles. Feels like cement has been poured into his intestines, sludge or hard packed soil settling into the pit of his stomach with no way out. 

It burns and it feels dark and heavy but,

_No._

“Oh yeah! All good, all good. Just, you know, helping them out in case they ever wanna repaint the tables or somethin'.” He plasters a smile on his face and looks up to briefly meet Keith’s eyes. He even holds out a finger, a strip of peeled paint stuck under his nail as proof that he really is just trying to be helpful. 

“Yeah, because re-painting is at the top of their reno list, I’m sure.” Keith glances around and snorts. 

It’s a shitty attempt at a joke but Lance takes it, clings onto it, and changes the subject. He opts for feigning interest in the tray of drinks to drag Keith’s _‘I’m not sure I believe you’_ look away. 

So as they wait for Pidge and Hunk to show up they sip their drinks and make small talk over that awful exam they both just had to suffer through.

It's hard, but Lance tries more than ever to squish those feelings down, to tune out that annoying voice that repeats the same thing over and over every time Keith glances to the bar and lets his gaze linger a little too long. 

Tries to ignore the voice that says _he doesn't care what you're saying so just stop talking_ when Keith's attention is stuck on the bar, Lance's words undoubtedly going in one ear and out the other.

It’s clockwork, really, how Lance knows without checking his phone that it’s been 20 minutes - because Keith’s excusing himself with a “bathroom, be right back” and slipping out of the booth, headed towards the back exit. Lance knows without looking at the bar that the bartenders have done a little switch up. The bulkier man with the short cropped hair is manning it right now, and the hot, built bartender (the one covered in tattoos who just so happens to be _exactly Keith's type_) from before, has quickly dipped to take his 10 minute smoke break. 

It’d be impressive, the clockwork of it all, if it didn’t hurt so damn much. 

Lance spends the time that Keith’s gone split between people watching, paint peeling, and instagram stalking until, like clockwork, he turns his head and catches sight of Keith’s mop of black hair walking in through the open back door, headed straight for the washrooms. 

At least he doesn’t lie about that part. 

Lance’s never really pegged himself as the jealous type. At least, not like _this_, anyway. Because, no, this is a little different; this is the type of feeling that extends past any amount of jealousy he’s ever felt before and it-

Keith slides back into the booth with a programmed “hey, sorry for taking a while, some idiot locked it from the inside” and Lance catches sight of the fresh bruised skin lining the side of his neck and it-

And it burns so, so bad that he wants nothing more than to slide onto the floor and curl into a ball.

Lance refuses to look, but it's futile because he knows the bulkier guy has retreated back into the kitchen and the built guy with more tattoos showing that skin is back at his spot at the bar. 

And Lance wants to scream and yell it all out at the same time that he wants to walk into the middle of the street. 

Quiet and inconspicuous. 

Lance notices the fresh minty smell and a quick glance confirms that yes, there’s a piece of gum in Keith’s mouth that can only hint at one thing and one thing only, and Lance feels the soil settle a little lower. Feels the cement harden just a little more. The burn gets worse and worse till his throat feels dry, too dry, and he really just wants- 

_You’ll never be good enough for him._

Lance grabs a shot off the tray and throws it back. 

_Not good enough so don’t even try. _

By the time he sets the empty shot glass back on the table, his signature fake smile is firmly back in place. 

Shut up, he tells the voice in his head. I know. I know. I know I know I kn-

Lance takes one look at Keith’s bright lips and growing concern at his silence and immediately helps direct the conversation elsewhere, “So I was thinking of getting a tattoo…” is the safe enough topic he settles for. 

~

Lance coughs up the first petal on a bright and sunny Thursday afternoon. He’s in the process of folding their laundry when it happens. He’s matching a blue sock to a black one when he feels like there’s a speck of dust stuck in his throat. A simple cough does nothing, just leaves him suddenly unable to breathe, and then he’s clawing at his throat and tripping over the laundry basket, running and stumbling over to the tap to get a drink. The water cupped in his palm doesn’t even make it to his lips before his entire frame shakes as he coughs and hacks and chokes. 

It’s only a petal - the smallest, most beautiful petal he’s ever seen- and it sits innocently in the palm of his hand among specks of blood.

It’s the most beautiful petal he’s ever seen, but it burns and it stings and makes his eyes water because he knows what this is. Knows what this petal means, and instantly never wants to experience it again. 

More than anything, he wants to know how something so beautiful can be the result of something so agonizing. 

The petal gets flushed down the toilet mere minutes later and Lance’s stomach churns and swirls along with the water in the bowl. 

He should feel more relieved that he can finally pinpoint the exact source of that damn burning feeling in his stomach, yet the helplessness of his situation sucks the relief right from his heart. 

It’s right then and there, after the first petal, that he immediately decides Keith will never, ever know. No matter how many petals and how many flowers he coughs or throws up, no matter how many roots and stems and thorns he grows to feel blooming in his lungs, Keith will remain blissfully unaware. 

Outside, the late summer weather takes no regard of Lance's inner turmoil, sending a nice draft of warm air through the apartment. It feels out of place, yet it's a startling reminder that the world still continues on, regardless.

~

The plan to keep quiet almost backfires when Keith gets home from his evening class and heads straight to the bathroom. Lance thinks nothing of it untill he hears a startled “huh?” and his name, and his face goes pale. 

“Why’s there a flower petal in the toilet?” Keith asks as Lance steps into the bathroom. 

“Oh uhh…”

“Did you seriously try to flush roses down the toilet, again, so I wouldn’t see them?” Keith’s got a slight smirk on his face and Lance hurts. 

“Ah ha yeah, you got me…” he awkwardly rubs a hand on the back of his neck, “yeah, that annoying Jenny girl gave me flowers again and I… uhh..” he forces a fake laugh and shrugs. 

This time it’s a blatant lie, sure, but it has happened before. 

Lance flushing roses down the toilet, that is. 

Keith presses the lever and the toilet flushes and the water swirls and swirls but the petal wont flush down. Just stays afloat and Lance’s heart skips because right, he knows these petals can't be destroyed.

He knows he knows he _knows_ he kno-

“Here, just let me-,” he reaches into the toilet bowl and scoops it up. He knows that you can’t flush these petals, can’t toss them down the drain, can’t shred them up into tiny pieces and let the wind take them. “There! I guess if it really doesn’t want to flush then it’s probably some sign from, I don’t know, God or whoever telling me to keep the damn thing!”

He knows so why can’t he-

At that, Keith laughs. “Guess the universe wants you two together then, huh. Maybe you should just take her up on it, go out for a movie or something with her. I don’t know, could be good.”

Lance gives him a skeptical look, ignoring the burn that he now realizes has woven its way into his lungs. Realizing it’s source somehow makes it easier to push down, though Lance knows it won't be that way for long. Yeah right, date a girl while I’m in lo-

“What? You never know! I’m just saying that I haven’t seen you with anyone in forever, and that’s like, not usual for you, right? So yeah, take this as a,” Keith raises his eyebrows and the smirk is firmly planted back on his face. God, Lance loves that smirk. “-a sign from ‘God or whoever’ and, I don’t know, see where it goes?”

“Look at you, the master of quickies giving relationship advice,” Lance fires back, offering a smirk of his own. 

See, they still banter and they still joke around, but it hurts and it burns and it’s only the first petal. 

“Whatever you say, _lover boy_ Lance!”

Keith kicks Lance and his soggy petal out of the bathroom moments later, when a playful shove to the shoulder prompts an impromptu all out war. 

See, they still banter and joke and play around, but Lance is helpless and Keith is so oblivious that he tries to offer Lance relationship advice. 

It’s almost laughable, really. 

_You’re not his type anyway. You’re not good enough for him. You’ll never amount to anythi-_

Shut up. 

I know. 

~

The season starts to change and late summer shifts into early fall. Leaves begin to change color and fall off the trees so that Lance's shoes crunch and crackle everywhere he walks. 

The leaves start to fall and for Lance it’s petals and more petals coughed up at random times of the day. 

Thankfully, Lance ends up all alone when it happens. All alone to deal with the black out panic that comes with not being able to breathe while a soft flower petal is forcing its way up the back of your throat, blocking your airways and your vocal chords. It’s just the noise of hands clawing at skin and tears slipping from eyes as Lance struggles and feels like he’s toeing the threadbare line of death, every single time. 

It should get easier, it really should, but it doesn’t and Lance is still expected to function as a normal university student as the days wear on, even though it burns and the nightmares have started. 

He keeps the petals - 9 of them so far - in a box on the top of his closet. Keith sleeps in the den across the hall anyway, but even if he was to go poking around in Lance’s closet, he’d need a chair to see the box. 

9 petals and 9 experiences of choking within an inch of his life but Keith still doesn’t know and anything is better than Keith finding out. 

~

A week passes. 

Around campus, the trees slowly become more colorful, painting the walkways with hints of reds, oranges, and browns, and the student body starts dressing in accordance even though the temperatures haven’t dropped any. Leaves keep falling and Lance keeps sweating as he walks to classes dressed in his premature fall fashion. The sting from the low midterm marks passes yet lingers and even though it burns in more ways than one, Lance is still forced to keep up the normal university student facade he plasters to his face every morning. 

Amongst it all, Lance almost forgets to enjoy his favorite season. 

The deep-set burn continues to increase but Lance’s been nothing if not a fighter, and while he doesn’t know how many petals he still has to go before the full flowers and the vomiting starts, he does know that suffering this is miles better than confessing and ruining their friendship. 

At least with a friendship, he reasons, Keith is around him all the time. Yeah, he’s out every so often with a new hook up, and yeah, he comes home late at night smelling of smoke and older men but hey, who does he come home to? Whose bed does he flop onto when he’s drunk and tired and sore from rich stuck-up guys going a little too rough? Whose bed does he find himself in when the pressure of having to balance school and work and late nights gets too much? 

It burns, but Lance would rather lose his life than lose what they’ve got. It’s something or nothing at all, and the choice feels so obvious when Lance finally works it out that it makes his mind feel clear for the first time in- hell, he doesn’t even know how long. 

~

Lance’s YA influenced dramatic attitude of “I’d rather spend 100 days in pain than spend 100 days without you” works for a little while. 

And it’s good, it’s all fine, He says.  
It hurts, yes, but Lance’s been dealing with the thoughts of inadequacy for years so by now he’s a natural at pushing them down and ignoring them. 

Last weeks’ all out panic from choking up petals has now morphed and blended its way into Lance’s daily routine: the petals go in the box on the shelf after he coughs them up and dries them, and if they keep getting bigger and more vibrant with blood splatters, it’s only Lance whose dealing with them, anyway. 

His outright acceptance of it all and the normalcy this routine is rapidly adapting should be a little more concerning than Lance lets himself believe it to be, but… 

It’s good, and it _works_. 

Until it doesn’t, because this is a disease born from unrequited love, after all. 

~

Like the weather, it starts to fall apart when Keith comes home one late night with hickies and sex-hair and plops down on Lance’s comforter. It’s nothing new for them, but this time there’s a line of tension running through Keith’s body. And his voice sounds different when he finally speaks, like he’s tired, fed up, worn out; “the fucker took my money. Made me suck his dick, didn’t pay me and took the fucking $40 from my wallet.” 

And Lance is so, so angry. The boy laying next to him doesn’t deserve this at all; he’s too sweet, too caring, too full of life and too full of love to be treated like someone’s-- like he’s-- Keith’s worth so much more and-

It digs right into Lance’s heart, the rush of feelings he has for this boy. It’s sudden and it brings nothing but pain. Within the next quick thump-thump of the heart in the body lying next to his, Lance is suffocating. It's his lungs, high up this time, and there’s no air getting through his windpipe at all. In the next beat, Lance is throwing the covers off, jumping from the bed, and stumbling, slipping, tripping in his frantic rush to the bathroom. Hands thrown over his mouth in a futile attempt to keep the petals in. 

He barely makes it in time, fingers fumbling as he rushes to get the lock to click before he turns and kneels and lets the cough loose. It rips from his throat violently and Lance thinks he’s gonna be sick. He can barely hear anything except from the rushing of blood in his ears. Can’t see anything but the stars that swarm his vision as he bends low, grips the edges of the toilet bowl and gives up resisting. 

He throws up this time. A full flower, exactly the same as the petals before. It rips and it burns and it feels like sandpaper to his throat. 

When the thundering in his ears stops and the black spots in his vision blink back into the scene of the bathroom, Lance sees the full flower in the toilet and can’t help the sob that rips from his body. 

It’s only then that Lance hears the anxious knock from the other side of the bathroom door, only then that he clues into the worry and confusion in Keith’s voice as he calls Lance’s name. 

“Hey, hey, I’m fine. Just ate something bad at dinner I guess…” Lance groans, voice cracking as it leaves his dry, aching throat, “Hurts a lot more coming up than it did going down.” It’s a pitiful lie, as is the sad excuse of a laugh that follows, but Lance knows that Keith’ll leave it be. He’ll pretend to let it slide and continue to hold the illusion that nothing’s wrong, just like he’s so good at doing. 

And for once, Lance is thankful for the lack of transparency in their friendship. It makes pulling the flower from the toilet bowl a little easier, knowing that he’s not going to get immediately questioned. Knowing Keith’s going to offer quiet support but not break the door down and invade. 

“‘Kay, I’ll just- want me to make you some tea?”

And “yeah,” tea would be nice, wouldn’t it? “Please.” 

Lance sinks to the floor as he hears footsteps fade into the kitchen, lets the tension and stress lift from his shoulders, the unshed tears drop down his cheeks. It hurts and it burns and Lance knows he’ll never be enough for Keith, knows it like he knows how much this disease is slowly eating him alive. 

He _knows_, okay? But there’s nothing he can do about it, anyway, so just shut up, alright? 

More than he knows how helpless he is, Lance knows that Keith needs him right now. Needs his unrelenting unwavering support - his shoulder to cry on, so to speak- while he deals with the anger of being ripped off in such a vile way. 

So Lance does what he does best: moves on. Let’s shit go and moves the fuck on. Gently takes the flower from the toilet bowl and uses the underside of his thin sleep shirt to dry it off. Slips into his bedroom unnoticed while Keith busies himself with the kettle and the mugs and quietly takes the box down from his top shelf. 

It's disconcerting, how what felt like sandpaper to his throat somehow feels like silk against his stomach as the petals brush his skin on their way out from under the sleep shirt. 

It’s only once the flower is sealed in the box with the rest of the petals that Lance feels like he can breathe again. 

It takes less than five minutes and a million threads of self discipline to go from calm to total panic to calm again, but Lance knows that Keith needs a strong Lance right now, and who is Lance if not strong? 

It’s the first full flower Lance has thrown up and he knows he should dwell on it more, should be more concerned, but Keith takes priority. So he leaves the flower and all its symbolism shut away in his closet and pushes the ache deep down in his chest so he can barely feel it. Lets Keith hold onto him like his life depends on it. Like the world is falling apart outside of Lance’s bed. And if Lance holds on just as tight with just as much abandon, then who’s to say? 

_This is only the beginning_ after all. 

~


	2. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Fall and things have to get worse before they can get better.

The days grow longer and the petals don’t stop, but neither do the full flowers, either. The dull pain in his lungs grows steadily into something that never subsides and Lance finds himself becoming increasingly unable to ignore it; his head aches nearly as much as the pit of his stomach does, and his lungs, chest, and throat burn for long after the offending flower gets dried off and placed in the box. 

He can’t ignore it anymore and he no longer tries to deny the severity of it all, but he doesn’t do anything to help himself, either. 

He still gives in without much of a fight when Hunk and Pidge drag him out of his apartment for a night on the town, still sits next to Keith while they drink, and still drags the group out onto the dance floor. 

_LLura’s_ is usually one of his favorite places, two stories with 4 bars and the good D’J’s who always play the exact pump-up tunes that Lance needs. But his heart just isn’t in it tonight, and holding the act that he’s having a good time is getting harder and harder. The burn in his throat getting stronger and the intrusive voice getting louder the less he turns a blind eye to the blatant flirting Keith and another man are getting into over there on the dance floor. 

Sandwiched between them and the booth wall, Lance knows he should take Pidge up on their attempt to drag his attention away, but Lance swears his eyes are magnetized to the way Keith’s body rolls and fits snugly into the groove of the man pressed into him from behind. He’s helplessly hypnotized by the way their bodies roll together to the beat of the music. 

And it burns and it stings and Lance feels the telltale signs of the speck of dust in his lungs but he won't look away, can’t look away until it’s almost too late and-

_You’ll never be the one he’s with. You’ll never be good enough for him._

In a split second he’s hoping over Pidge with what he thinks is a strangled “be right back” before racing toward the bar’s only bathroom. There’s a couple yells as Lance’s all but jumps out of the booth but Lance barely hears them, heartbeat way too loud and overpowering in his skull. He feels half out of it, eyes only focused in on the washroom sign hanging over by the far wall as his feet grapple for purchase on the beer-sticky floors. He’s only dimly aware of the bodies he shoves out of his way. 

It’s a frantic rush but he can’t be caught choking on a flower in public. _He can’t. _

He doesn’t quite make it to the toilet stall, the cough already ripping itself from his throat as he shoulders his way into the bathroom. He ignores the protests from the men waiting in line for an open urinal and rushes to the sink instead. It’s a packed bathroom and a horrible place to be outed for having such a soul crushing disease, but Lance- he’s really got no air left to spare for a panic attack yet- he feels himself going over the line anyway and there’s no turning back and holy fucking shi t it’s snowballing on and he can’t breathecan’tbreathecan’t-- 

\--

The world goes black for a split second. All his sense receptors shudder to a stop as he struggles to hold onto consciousness against the lack of air getting to his lungs. To his brain. 

_Focus. _

_Cough._

_Focus._

Breathe. 

Breaaaathheee. 

Breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe. 

Life starts again just as quickly and brutally as it stopped. Sound comes back first; the loudness of the club still muted by the rustle of the busy bathroom. The faucet, the toilet flushing, quiet chatter, club music coming in through the open door. His mind rapidfire skips over all of those noises and settles on the one that is all too familiar, his name, and the word ‘breathe’ being repeated over and over. 

His sense of touch comes rushing back along with all his other senses, and Lance is suddenly aware of the death grip he’s got on the edge of the sink. Aware that there’s someone by his side and someone right behind him. 

There’s a gentle hand rubbing slow circles into his back and it’s not the hand he desperately needs but it’s familiar, it’s soothing, and it’s just enough to ground Lance enough to pull him off the edge. It gives him the strength to let loose one last shuttering cough. The gentle soothing of Hunks rubbing hand doesn’t stop and Lance, though he doesn’t want to, dares to lift his head. 

What he’s met with is not fear or shame, or even apathy like he expected. Instead, he finds himself meeting Pidge’s unwavering gaze in the mirror. From behind him, their eyes read solid understanding with a touch of quiet acceptance. 

It’s a look that says “I’m here for you. We need to talk about this, not right now but soon.” And it’s not the person his heart wants right now, but Pidge is a close second and Lance is so very glad for their existence. 

It’s Hunk who plucks the flower from the sink, barely sparing it a second glance as he wraps it in paper towel and shoves it in Keith’s jacket pocket. It’s Hunk, whose solid grip on his shoulder offers enough support and strength to get Lance to lift his head and leave the bathroom. 

He barely remembers the trip home from the bar, just knows that Keith complained at Pidge’s request to leave early but complied nonetheless. Just knows that Hunk didn’t leave his side the whole trip from bathroom to car to bed but thankfully said nothing about what he witnessed in the bathroom. He knows they have a difficult conversation on the horizon, waiting for them, but right now it’s a silent but well needed - and much appreciated - show of unwavering support. 

~

Pidge waits a total of half a day before calling. 

Lance is walking out of his bio class when his phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and answers without checking the caller ID, promptly regretting the happy “heya!” he answered the phone with when he hears Pidge’s commanding voice on the other line. 

_“Got time to talk?”_

Ahah. Does Lance have time to talk about the one thing he never ever wants to talk about? 

Ahah. No. 

No he does not. 

_“And don’t you dare say no because I saved a picture of your timetable so I know you’re walking out of ap bio right now and your next class isn’t until 4 so you’ve got plenty of time so don’t you dare try and evade this one.”_

“Okay first of all, creep. Second of all, I actually skipped bio today so I’m actually not walking out of class right now so no, I don’t really have time because I’m not even on campus today.” 

_“Lance you literally live on campus and nice try but I can see you, idiot.”_

Lance knows he’s lost when the voice on the phone becomes louder and more real as it walks up behind him. 

“Creep.” He bites out anyway as the call beeps to let him know Pidge has hung up. 

“Doormat.” 

“Invader of priv- wait, what?”

“Doormat, because you’re a liar.”

Lance sputters. “That was awful.”

“Yeah, probably. Hunk’s waiting for us at _Coran’s_.”

And Lance has no choice but to push down the dread and follow them out of the life science’s building. 

~

The conversation is as painstakingly awful as Lance expects it to be. He knows, deep down, that his friends are only trying to help him, looking out for his best interests and whatnot. He knows, but it still hurts to hear the words he doesn’t want to hear said out loud. 

“It’s Keith, isn’t it?” Pidge asks around the rim of her hot chocolate, because they’re perceptive and brutally honest like that. 

“You’ve gotta tell him,” Hunk replies as Lance’s nod confirms Pidge’s suspicions, “it’s literally killing you, Lance.” 

And Lance hates feeling like such a burden but he really, really can’t tell Keith, can’t tell him anything, because then everything ends. 

Lance keeps quiet and for a while only focuses in on the noises of the cafe, the spoon clinking in Hunk’s mug as he anxiously stirs his coffee. “You know I can’t. You know as well as I do that Keith’s off the market.” His voice is unusually quiet when he finally speaks. 

“That’s because he doesn’t know! Because you haven’t-”

Lance picks his mug up and drains it in one big gulp. He sets it down gently but the indignant screech the chair makes as he abruptly stands up effectively cuts Pidge off. He knows it’s dramatic and has every pair of eyes in the cafe on him, but Lance’s is tired. 

He’s so fucking tired so he drops a few coins on the table and stalks out of the cafe. He doesn’t have to turn around to see the knowing and worried glance Pidge shares with Hunk behind his back. 

He hates feeling like a burden and he hates that his friends feel like they have to step in, but more than anything, he hates the idea of losing them. Of losing Keith. 

He knows it’ll kill him. Knows that by continuing to keep quiet the disease will silently work it’s course at eating him alive, but as he’s already said, that’s the way he wants - no, needs - it to be. 

~

Thankfully, as the days pass and they bunker down into the thick of their school season, Hunk and Pidge don’t meddle. In fact, they drop the topic all together, only offering smiles and lingering hugs in passing, between classes, or when they say goodbye after hanging out on each other's couch long into a study session. 

Perhaps even more thankfully, they continue to act normal around Keith and invite him along whenever they can, and they keep their mouths shut about Lance’s predicament while doing so. 

~

Things start solidly falling apart not even a month later. 

By the grace of some higher up deity, Lance’s granted a nice week where things even out first, though, before they all fall to shit. The weather is nice for early November, and the sun on his face as he walks to class offers the illusion that everything is fine. And for the week, Lance lets himself believe it to be. 

It’s when the thick of things start to slow down enough that they become more see through, that Lance can see there is indeed an end to the Fall semester. 

The end is near, and that’s the only thing that’s keeping Lance grounded as the sun shows its face less and less each day. It’s that point in the semester where he just doesn’t want to go through the motions of the day anymore, and the seasonal changes aren’t helping at all. He would literally rather be anywhere else but here, in a 3 hour lecture (that none of his friends are in) that marks the first of 9 hours of class. Back to back to back, starting at 10am and finishing at 9pm. If Lance had the option to escape and leave and runaway, he’d choose to go home. Without hesitation. 

Lance lets himself be distracted by the thoughts of home, by how much he wants to be in the farmhouse, in the kitchen, swaying along to the radio that his mother always has on as he helps her out with the cooking of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners for the younger ones. Hell, he’ll even take on the responsibility of cleaning the boy’s bathroom all by himself just to have the excuse to be home. 

But alas, the world doesn’t work the way we want it to, and Lance can’t just click his ruby red heels and return to the endless comfort of his mother’s kitchen. Instead, he’s gotta return to an apartment that always feels cold, and he’s gotta remember to take something out for dinner, and then eat it so it doesn’t go bad, and then clean and read and study and sleep in a place that constantly reminds him that everything is always one breath from falling apart. Every. Single. Day. 

It’s Keith’s face in the morning, groggy and still sleep-creased, that serves as an endless reminder of the disease that’s killing him from the inside. 

~

Lance lets it get bad enough that he passes out. Almost chokes himself to death on the unrequited-ness of it all, so much so that he finds himself coming back to on the bathroom floor, blood and one full flower swirling in the toilet bowl, and an exasperated voice yelling his name and pounding on the door from the other side. 

Keith yells at him after that. After Lance reorients himself and flushes the toilet and opens the door on weak legs and tells Keith that it’s just a super bad cold that’s got him unable to move. That, and he’s super, super tired. After Keith helps him onto the couch and tucks him in under piles and piles of blankets and heads into the kitchen to make him his favorite ‘feel better’ tea. 

Well, it’s more of a stern warning filled with worry but Lance can see how much it’s actually scared Keith, and yes, he says, he’ll let Keith know next time he’s feeling like shit, no, he won’t let it get this bad again, he’ll text Keith no matter what time of day it is, and yes, Keith, he knows that he doesn’t have to shoulder everything alone, yes, there’s people who’ll help him. 

Keith cancels his plans for the night and sits next to Lance on the couch for the whole time. They end up binge watching as many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved as they can before Lance feels himself start to drift off and only dimly notices Keith’s warm presence leave his side. It’s through a soft of soft, sleepy, mentally tired haze that Lance see Keith turn the tv off and leave the room. It’s through that same haze that Lance notices another blanket being laid on top of him, and feels the couch dip as Keith spreads himself out alongside Lance’s body. Lance’s very rapidly losing himself to the irresistible pull of sleep and rational thoughts are starting to go, but he very dimly notes that Keith didn’t check his phone all night. Lance counts it as a win and lets his eyes close for the night. 

~

_Things always get worse before they get better._

It’s what Hunk says to Pidge when they mention the constant fights their parents have been into at home. And Lance listens to their explanation, offers a shoulder of support for his best friend, but he can’t take his mind off Hunk’s words. 

When he sits back and thinks of the increased panic attacks and nightmares, it’s clear that things have been progressively getting worse. He can feel it taking longer for him to regain his strength after he chokes up a flower, finds that sleep takes longer and longer to find him each night. But does it ever get better? 

This is a disease born from unrequited love. It goes away once one's feelings are returned. If not, there’s no cure. These are facts that Lance knows. 

_Sunrise and death: the only two real truths in the world._

~

Lance can feel the world preparing to fall apart days before it actually happens. The loom of the impending storm hangs over his head like a heavy rain cloud for the entire week, which is why he’s not incredibly shocked when the tension breaks and thunder claps and everything comes falling down. 

Lance’s procrastinating a final essay by baking cookies in their tiny kitchen, with Keith sitting in the sunny spot at the dining room table working away on a paper, and it just feels so domestic, so homey, so husband-y on both of their parts that Lance feels his stomach tighten. 

See, Keith looks drop dead gorgeous over there, with the way the low evening sun is sending copper streaks through his hair. The sight of it alone fills Lance with a sudden, incomprehensible sense of longing. 

Makes him feel like he’s missing something that he’s never even had. 

_And never going to get. _

_Worthless. _

_Don’t you know by now? You’ll never be good enough to be his._

It comes as no surprise that this is the moment when the first clap of metaphorical thunder roars overhead.

Lance’s got a tray of cookies in one oven mitt and the oven door held open with the other hand when the first spasm takes over his body, and a violent cough gets out before he can get a hand free to stop it. Lance has no choice but to throw the tray of dough into the oven and shut the door as fast as he can and sprint to the bathroom. He knows his face is already turning bright red as no air continues to get down his windpipe.

Keith’s behind him in a heartbeat, but Lance’s too distraught and too out of it to think about closing and locking the door behind him. 

What begins as an innocent coughing fit quickly (with barely any warning) turns violent and disastrous - it goes from a regular fit that Lance’s been having all week into something he doesn’t know how to deal with within the span of 4 heartbeats. 

The seconds pass and Lance still can’t breathe. He’s white-nuckled gripping the toilet bowl, choking and trying to cough but nothing’s coming out, and he’s starting to panic. Starting to clutch at his throat with both hands, eyes watering, and panicking, panicking, panicking, as dots start swarming in his vision. 

He’s aware of the hand slapping his back, but whatever’s stuck in his throat is not coming out, and just the thought of it, of Keith being there to witness it, sends Lance over the edge. He throws his arms out and lets himself slide to the floor in a thrashing fit. _Keith can’t know Keith can’t know get Keith out of here._

_Not good enough. _

_Stop trying._

His vision gets cloudier with those dots but Lance doesn’t want to die. 

He’s toeing the line of consciousness and rational thought is slowing down, but Lance is vibrantly aware that he doesn’t want to die. Doesn’t want to die. Doesn’t want to die. 

Not like this, Not in front of Keith, surrounded by blood, petals, and the drowning weight of being inadequate. 

_Never good enough._

But-

No, he- 

This can’t-

_You’ll never be good enough for him. _

_Stop holding onto something you will never have._

_Let go. _

_You’re not enough and it’s eating you alive. _

_Just let go, Lance._

And, because things have to get worse before they get better, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a happy ending, I swear
> 
> thanks for reading :)
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr


	3. Bleeding into Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The season shifts as subtly as it always does and Lance hates the smell of flowers.
>
>> _Unlike the snow, however, Lance is done falling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited because I'm super tired but I really wanted to get this up while it's still Keith's birthday (at least, it is in my part of the world hehe) 
> 
> so, happy birthday Keith, this ones for you. 
> 
> I said you'd get a happy ending ;)

The first thing Lance notices is the lack of pain and the ability to breathe deeply. 

The second thing Lance notices is the weight of a hand in his own. 

He’s partially awake and seeing the room around him in a sort of hallucinatory haze, but there are key things his sleep deprived brain takes notes of: Pidge sitting in the chair beside the bed, one arm crossed in front to act as a pillow for their head as they sleep almost soundly; Hunk, as a polar opposite, in the chair across the room with a pillow wedged between the back of his head and the wall, loud snores evenly leaving his body; the third chair in the room sitting empty. 

~

The second time Lance wakes all his senses seem to come rushing back online all at the same time. The noise and the light and the feel of the dry hospital gown against his skin should be overpowering and too much, yet it all happens with such a foreign-familiar feeling that Lance thinks maybe he’s still dreaming. But when he opens his eyes, his head and vision are unmistakably clear. 

He feels heavy-headed but light in the body. It’s like the weight of everything is no longer crushing against his solar plexus. Makes his feel like there’s no longer sledge sitting in his stomach at the same time that he’s seconds away from falling through the floor. 

There’s no overbearing, threatening storm cloud above his head, either. 

He feels something he can’t begin to describe and lets the dumb, self-depreciating grin spread across his face. Despite knowing the extent of the situation that’s led him here, on his back in a hospital gown, in a hospital bed, in a hospital room, it’s comedic. 

Judging by the look on the face of the figure who has paused in the doorway, it really, really, shouldn’t be. 

Lance can’t keep the grin down even as Keith crosses the threshold and makes his way over to the bedside. His hands come up to try and claw the grin off his face but it’s no use, and Keith’s dragging his hands away, anyway. 

“You think this is funny?” He whispers, harshly. “Lance, you have no idea how scared I was. And then for Pidge and Hunk to tell me they knew? We live together, we spend so much time together and I couldn’t even notice that you were going through this? We- we’re us and yet you told them but you didn’t tell me? Lance i-” 

Keith breaks. His knees seem to give out and he collapses down onto the bed, sitting sideways so that he’s not disturbing Pidge, but also so that Lance can’t see his face. 

It’s such a soul shattering revelation, that Keith’s breakable just like the rest, and Lance’s grin is wiped off his face in an instant. 

Lance watches in disbelief and horror as Keith’s body curls in on itself and his shoulders shake with the tears that he’s keeping in. 

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to be Keith who broke, and it wasn’t supposed to be Lance who broke him. 

_This is why he wasn’t supposed to know._

Lance pulls Keith towards him, closer, so his hair tickles Lance’s chin from where Keith’s head is buried in Lance’s neck. 

“I’m okay now though, aren’t I?” because Lance’s gotta check, gotta confirm. 

“Lance…”

“They cleaned out my lungs, I can breathe. My head is clear. What more could you ask for?” He jokes, because seeing Keith break has shattered something in himself. 

“How can anyone not love you…” It’s said into Lance’s neck. “I swear, Lance. If I ever find out who it is that doesn’t love you, I-” 

Lance just pulls him closer and doesn’t let him finish that sentence. Holds onto him like both their lives depend on it. 

“The nurse said that you’ve got two choices,” and Lance knows them already. “Make them love you, or have your memory erased of them. You’re strong enough that I know you’ll bounce back from both of those.” 

And Lance is tired. It’s hard to admit that you’re not as strong as everyone thinks you are. It’s harder to make a decision when all three choices seem equally impossible. 

“I just want you to be happy, Lance.” It comes out as a whisper, shared only in the subliminal space between them, for only them to hear. 

And Lance - he knows he’s not worth anything, but he can’t help but wish he was. 

“I know but they- Keith, I’m not erasing them from my memory, no way, but- no lemme finish!- I’m not gonna give up either, duh,” Lance pulls back a little to hold Keith at an arm's length, “and I know. Trust me.”

“Kay, but you can’t stop me from personally fighting the idiot who doesn’t love you back.” It’s said with no hint of sarcasm and Lance can’t help but laugh.

He laughs and sure, it still hurts somewhere deep down, but he thinks that maybe things just might be okay, after all. 

It doesn’t take long for Keith to join in, and then they’re nothing more than two boys on a hospital bed, laughing while clinging onto each other as the world continues on around them.

~

Hunk’s mom (bless her) shows up later to take them all out for brunch and it’s so nice and so needed that for the whole time, Lance forgets the past 24 hours. And when he accidentally catches Ms. Garret’s eye as he lifts a chunk of syrupy pancake goodness to his mouth and sees the knowing glint in her eyes, he realizes that was the whole point; drown your sorrows in comfort food surrounded by people you love like family, and the whole world seems to put itself on pause. 

When Ms. Garret drops them off later, the first thing Lance does is take a bath. A nice, long, steamy bath that fogs up the mirror because he never turns the fan on despite Keith hating it. 

A nice long bath that leaves him alone for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. 

_The hospital._

Lance’s eyes land on the bottle of pills the doctor pressed into his hand before the left, and he sits up enough to grab them off the bathroom counter. 

_Take these pills once a day and when the bottle’s empty, all thoughts of loving the person will disappear. When the bottle is empty, all that’s left is a shallow friendship with that person. All thoughts of love and everything you used to love about them will leave._

Lance twists the bottle round and round, counting the pills and trying not to count down the days. 

_You’ve got a life changing decision to make, Lance. You don’t have to make it right away. Maybe take this home with you and sleep on it. Just remember though, the longer you put this off, the worse the after-effects are going to feel. Leave it too long, and you just might forget the person entirely. _

But how can he? How can he just forget what Keith looks like in the morning, all soft hair and sleepy smiles? Forget the day he took Keith to his first summer fair, took him on his first roller-coaster and watched front and center how Keith’s death grip on the restraints eased away into his arms in the air, whooping and hollering as the ride plummeted them to the ground and then raised them back up again. The wild look in Keith’s vibrant violet eyes, the wind making his usually messy hair look drop dead ridiculous but oh, so pretty. 

They’ve had so many memories together, good and bad. 

Lance releases the tension in his fingers and the pill bottle drops to the floor. It rolls and spins once, twice, and comes to an innocent stop right by the trash can. 

How can he forget all of that? 

_You can’t, but you’ll never be good enough for Keith anyway. _

_You might as well just take them, all at once._

_Forget about him. _

He won't, that’s how. 

~

It’s what seems like hours later that Lance pulls his pruned body from the lukewarm water, dresses, and makes his way into the kitchen. 

Keith’s at the stove stirring a pan of rice, and as Lance watches him, he notices there’s a distinct lack of tickling at the back of his throat that’s been ever present these past few months. Where Lance used to get the urge to cough his heart out every time he so much as looked in Keith’s general direction (or thought about his stupid little face), those feelings seem to have dwindled down to almost nothing. 

Lance knows that during his stay in the hospital they’d had him on this drug that both numbed the pain and killed any stems that were winding up his throat, even cleaned his lungs out enough for Lance to breathe properly for a few days. Long enough to make the decision with a clear head. 

It’s weird, because Keith looks just as domestic and homey and happy and beautiful as he always does, but Lance’s throat is settled for the time being. His heart feels like bursting, yes (what else is new?), but his lungs don’t feel like they’re one cough away from collapsing. 

So the doctor basically slapped a huge band-aid on him for a temporary fix, but Lance still thinks it’s odd to not feel the pain that’s become so normal, so second nature over the past few months. 

“So…” Keith turns and catches Lance’s eye as he walks into the room, “wanna talk about it?” 

He knows he probably should. But it feels like Pandora’s Box, and god knows somethings are better left closed, after all. 

“I’m not that great at like, saying stuff or anything, but I can listen if you want someone to talk to…” 

It’s so sincere and so _Keith_ that Lance has to glance away, dropping into the kitchen chair and focusing in on the chip in the table like it’s the most important thing in the room. 

“Hah, I know,” He jokes, “you’re honestly worse at giving advice than Professor Slav-” Keith snorts, “- but thanks for the offer. Gonna decline though.” 

“Okay. Offer stands whenever, you know.”

“I know. And thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The timer goes off and Lance stands and grabs an oven mitt, hip checks Keith out of the way so he can get the pan from the oven. 

That's the extent of their conversation, but Lance wouldn’t have had it any other way.

It’s short and support is offered but kept on the down low, and Lance grows weak at the realization that Keith knows him better than anyone else. Better than Hunk does, maybe, and that’s saying something. 

~

After the hospital episode, things change in that subtle way that nothing seems to change at all. 

The winter season starts slow and steady, days continuing to get brighter later in the morning and darker earlier in the evening. Daylight hours are at an all time low and Lance keeps himself happy by soaking up the sun’s warm rays every chance he gets. 

From where he sits, in the cafe just off campus, with his face turned up to catch the warmth of the sun, he feels like a plant; photosynthesizing just to stay alive. 

They’re at _Coran’s_ and Lance is enjoying himself a hell of a lot more than he was the last time he stepped foot in the place. It’s just the two of them, each working their way through a different paper on different topics for different classes, yet being able to bounce ideas back and forth does wonders for Lance’s writing skills. 

Plus, the allurement of the colourful trees outside and the beauty of the boy across from him makes for excellent distractions. 

See, not much has changed between the two of them since Lance’s hospital stunt, but Lance still lets his eyes linger when he’s sure Keith’s not paying attention. Because who is he kidding? Keith is stunning, even on days Lance knows he’s wearing the same clothes he’s worn for _at least_ three days. 

It’s odd though, how the scratching at the back of his throat doesn’t seem as overpowering as it used to when he stared at Keith. 

It’s the way those violet eyes stand out in sharp contrast to his pale skin, dark hair, and dark t-shirt. It’s like they call for you to look at them, and once you start looking, they trap you in and you can’t look away. 

Where he used to feel one step from suffocation just from thinking of his unrequited love for Keith, now he gets nothing more than an itch that makes him swallow a few times. It’s not like he’s complaining at the sudden development, it’s just… odd.

Weirder, still, that the drug from the hospital has felt his system completely and by all means, he should feel a shit ton worse. _Should_ feel as equally shitty as he did before the trip to the hospital.

Lance clears his throat and reluctantly drags his eyes away from captivating violet ones, looking down again at the nearly blank word doc. The cursor blinks mockingly because he’s stuck on a word his brain, for the life of him, can’t seem to remember. 

“What’s that stacking game I’m thinking of? Old school, my dad probably played it till he got a high score, block-ey, stack-ey, gotta make everything fit in properly?” 

“Tetris?”

“Yes! Thank you!” It’s not like knowing the word makes writing the paper any easier, but hey, at least he didn’t have to spend minutes googling the answer. “Eat that Pidge and Hunk, writing a paper with someone else is totally, 100% better than suffering through writing it alone.” 

They spend the next bit working away, quietly, and when Lance looks up again to think of another word that’s managed to escape his brain, he finds Keith’s eyes already on him, though they dart away the second Lance attempts to make eye contact. 

Throughout the study session he feels the weight of Keith’s gaze repeatedly. So much so that the next time it happens, Lance goes, “I’m fine, you know. You don’t gotta keep checking up on me. It’s not like I’m just gonna flop over and die on you.”

But the answer he’s met with isn’t the one he was expecting.

Keith’s brows furrow and a small pout surfaces on his face. “I know that.”

“Kay, well, you were kinda staring there, buddy”

But instead of denying it and arguing like two year olds - what would be normal by their terms - Keith just crosses his arms and glances away. And it could be just a trick of the light - _most probably_ is just a trick of the light - but the tips of Keith’s ears look a little pink. 

“Seriously, man. I’m all good.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

“Uhuh. The look said it all, short-stuff.”

Keith glances back with a snap of his head, “I am not short.” 

And that’s all it takes to pull Keith out of whatever funk he’s just slid himself into. One simple hit against his height and he’s no longer brooding and being weird. 

It’d be impressive, how well they know how to hold each other up, if it didn’t hurt deep down. 

~

The seasonal changes are as subtle as they always are. 

For Keith and Lance, though, things end up a little less straightforward, a little less linear, and something between them starts building in a way it hasn’t ever been allowed to build. 

Keith still goes out late in the night, leaving in a cloud of yummy smelling body spray and that stupid red cropped jacket, but he doesn’t stay out as late. Ends up drifting off on top of Lance’s covers more often than he does in his own bed, or in someone else’s. 

He still goes for those one-night-stands but they’re fewer and further between, and Lance is having a hard time telling if Keith even likes them anymore. More often than not, by the time he collapses next to Lance, on the couch or in bed already, he’s lost the post-orgasm bliss that used to linger on him far into the morning after. 

It seems like Keith’s making more of an effort to spend time in Lance’s company, and from the conversation in the cafe earlier in the week, Lance figures that it’s not because Keith thinks he’s weak or still recovering. It’s gotta be something else. But what? 

As for Lance, he’s still coughing up petals and flowers and the occasional twig with specks of blood on it, but as the days go on it seems like it hurts less and less each time. Sure, the coughing episodes are just as awful no matter their frequency or pain rating, but Lance finds he’s no longer struggling to hang onto life after them, any more. 

_The longer you put this off, the worse the after-effects are going to feel_, the doctor had said.

Lance figures the after-effects haven’t started yet, if how he’s feeling now is anything to go by and if the doctor’s words ring with any semblance of truth. 

_Don’t wait too long, Lance._

Despite it all, the pill bottle remains full, still lying on the bathroom floor by the trashcan. 

And something between them builds, and builds, and builds.

* * *

In the same way that one night, when you look out of your bedroom window before you fall asleep and see dead grass and bare trees and then, when you wake up the next morning and look out the same bedroom window to a sheet of snow encompassing the world like a silent blanket, Lance’s whole world seems to realign itself overnight.

Green grass one minute, a foot of snow the next. 

Unlike the snow, however, Lance is done falling.

* * *

Outside Lance’s bedroom window, the first snow of the season inconspicuously starts to fall, and Keith bears witness to it by walking home through it in the late evening. 

Keith’s home early enough from his night out that Lance hasn't quite fallen asleep yet, half lost to the dream world but not yet so far gone enough to miss his door creak as Keith slowly pushes it open. It's nothing out of the ordinary for Keith to climb into Lance's bed after a rough one-night-stand, so Lance thinks nothing of it, just closes his eyes and tries to fall back into that pleasant state of half lucidness.

It's nothing out of the ordinary all the way up until Lance doesn't feel the bed dip, and certainly doesn't feel Keith’s body flop onto the mattress, like usual after a tough night. 

It’s unusual enough to pull Lance far from the idea of sleep, prompting him to crack an eye open. 

Keith's just standing there in the middle of the open doorway, the light from the hall casting his elongated shadow oddly across Lance's low platform bed. 

Lance watches as he just stands there, unmoving, until he shakes his head and takes a slow step forward, and Lance hurriedly closes his eyes. He feigns sleep as the telltale signs of the floor creaking let him know Keith's making his way across the room.

It becomes even more unusual when he feels Keith kneels down beside the bed, right in front of his face, and Lance feels cold hands start carding gentle fingers through his hair. The touch is welcomed; he’s so starved for this type of domestic, loving contact that it takes everything in him not to lean into it. To hold in the noise that threatens to spill from his lips. To keep his eyes closed and hold the act of being asleep. 

The gentle strokes are nearly enough to send Lance over the threshold between awake and asleep, and he's so, so close, _almost_ there, until Keith starts talking. 

Gentle whispers clearly meant for the quiet anonymity of the room.

For a sleeping Lance. 

Or for no one at all. 

"I don't know if I can do this anymore, Lance. It's - it's just... not enough."

There's a long pause and Lance's heart lurches into his throat and he calls upon every ounce of self-control to hold in the cough. 

The silence becomes deafening. 

And then a shaky inhale and the words seem to spill from Keith's mouth, rushing out on the equally shaky exhale like they can't stand to be stuck in Keith's mouth anymore. 

"Lance, I think I'm in love with you."

And Lance doesn't think he's ever heard Keith's voice sound like that before, so broken and full of emotion; thin, small, and so worn out that Lance's caught up in the emotion of it and it takes multiple seconds for the words to register in his brain. 

_I think I'm in love with you._

Lance sits up so fast his head ricochets off of Keith's own.

"Ow! Lance, what the fuck?!" The force of the headbutt sends Keith careening backwards and he lands with his ass on the floor, one hand cradling the top of his head. 

"What'd you say?"

"Holy, Jesus. The fuck'd you do that for?"

"Keith. What did you just say."

"Seriously, what the fuck was that for. What?"

"Do you mean it? Yes or no, Keith."

"I - What.” 

Lance doesn’t entertain him, just sits on the bed and stares him down. Waits for Keith to be the first to speak. 

And suddenly he looks so small, down there on the floor. Small and so, so worn out. 

Keith shrugs, helpless, "well yeah, guess I am. But Lance, I just-- you-- I like you but you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back and it's hopeless but I can't help it. Like tonight, the sex was good and all but he, he didn't even stick around for the clean up and it -- he didn’t even care, Lance -- and I just want something more, hell, I deserve something more but fuck, I sure as hell don't deserve you, and you deserve someone so much better than me and-- Fuck…" and then he's hiccuping around a sob that forces its way out. 

It's _awful_ and it's _ugly_ and Lance just wants it to stop. 

So he does the only thing that's guaranteed to shut Keith up. 

He leans all the way forward and connects their lips together, one hand planted on the floor to keep him from tumbling off the bed, the other hand planted square on Keith's chest. 

It's brief and a little awkward because Keith's just sitting there, lips slightly parted in shock, eyes opened wide. 

"What…" Keith’s brows draw together in confusion when Lance pulls back. 

"Oh my god, you absolute idiot. It's you," Lance says, voice going soft, "It's always been you. Fuck, we're both absolute idiots." 

But Keith's still not getting it so Lance needs to spell it out for him, "It's you, you moron. I've been in love with you for so goddamn long. Of course it's you who’s slowly killing me, who the fuck else could it have been?" 

"Lance…"

And Lance is done waiting, done letting this disease get the better of him. Of them. So he connects their lips again.

This time Keith kisses back and it’s everything and nothing like what’s been described in any romance fic ever. It’s hungry, it’s desperate, and it says the words they’ve been hovering around for ages now. 

When they come up for air, seconds, minutes, hours, days later, the discomfort of the position hits Lance in full force; his back is kinked from leaning off the bed, his arm going numb from holding up nearly all of his body weight, his head getting dizzy from all the blood rushing to it as he leans out over the beautifully stupid, stupid boy. 

"So," Keith begins, but Lance's heart is bursting and he's exhausted, so he shushes him.

Cuts him off with a "no, let's sleep. We can talk this over in the morning,” because, “we've got all the time in the world ahead of us so can we just sleep right now?"

And because they do indeed have all the time in the world ahead of them, they do. 

And when morning comes and there’s a fresh blanket of snow covering the world, there's more to be said with kisses than with words, anyway. 

~

“I thought you were in love with that Jenny girl, or the other girl who sits besides you in orgo chem. Though I guess she didn’t buy you roses, did she?” Keith says, hair splayed out on Lance’s other pillow. 

His hand arrests its movement down the side of Keith’s face and he almost laughs. “Jenny? You were honestly jealous of Jenny? Keithers, my man. I may be bi but how could I try and love anyone else when you’ve had my heart for decades.”

Keith laughs, “please never say something so sappy ever again.”

“Buddy, that was barely scratching the surface of my sap. I’m like the tree you tried to climb that one time and got sap all over your hands that wouldn’t wash off for days and you-”

And Lance can hardly be offending when Keith’s cutting him off with a kiss. How can _anyone_ be offended when Keith’s kissing them?

“And,” Keith says when they pull back, “it’s not like you told me either way. All this time I was with other guys because I thought you were head over heels in love with someone else. Think of how much sooner we could of been doing this if you just _told me_.”

It’s not a complaint, no, it’s just a statement of the facts. 

There’s no words to explain to Keith why Lance couldn’t have just told him, so he settles on kissing Keith instead of responding. 

As for the burn in his chest, that’s still there, though Lance thinks this burn can be attributed to lust as opposed to unrequited desire. 

He’s proven correct when Keith flips them and Lance’s left helpless under Keith’s touch as innocent kisses quickly turn into something much more impure. 

~

“Well,” Lance comments afterwards, when they’re laying side-by-side not quite ready to leave the comfort of Lance’s bed, “I really fucking hate the smell of flowers now.” 

And Keith bursts out laughing like the world outside of Lance’s bedroom is ending and this is the last time he’ll ever get to laugh. 

It’s pure, unimpeded, and it’s everything Lance’s body and soul has been yearning for since before he even knew the right words for it. 

Lance closes his eyes, breathes Keith in. There’s that feeling in his chest still, but it’s just his heart blooming. 

When he opens his eyes and sees Keith right next to him, beginning to doze off again, Lance thinks that somewhere along the way, without ever testifying to it, he’s won.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd that's about it!
> 
> I'm planning on writing an epilogue which is why it says 4 chapters. I also just want to get the word count to an even number
> 
> Thanks for coming on this journey with me and the boys :)
> 
> As always, I love you and your feedback is more than welcome!!
> 
> you can come yell at me over at https://three-chan.tumblr.com


	4. Epilogue - Winter in the Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got an eternity ahead of them to figure it all out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! 
> 
> I had to give my boys some closure, but life kinda got in the way for a bit there. 
> 
> Now that it's finals season and I should be studying my heart out, I've got a second wind of creativity and the epilogue of this fic kept calling my name. 
> 
> it's in Keith's point of view this time
> 
> I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it :)

In the days that follow things don’t really change at all. The kissing and the touching and the morning sex is new and welcomed, but beyond that, Keith feels as if they’ve always been meant to be together - a couple who never really fit the label or realised they could act as one. Now that the air is clear between them, though, there’s not much holding them back.   
Keith goes out with his buddies less often than before, and when he does, Lance is a permanent fixture at his side. And that’s fine, because the guys love Lance like deep down Keith always knew they would.

As for Lance, the disease takes its time running its course, so Lance coughs occasionally and throws up the leftover petals in his stomach, the final flowers in his lungs. It sounds and looks as every bit as painful as the times before, but Keith’s there with him for every step of the healing process. Makes sure his favorite tea is ready and waiting for him when he walks out of the bathroom wiping his mouth. Is there to rub his back and hold his white-knuckled hand as the final flower’s thorns scrape his throat on the way up. Is there to hold Lance through the night as the last of the nightmares course through his brain. 

As for school, Lance starts coming to Keith for help, and Keith’s more than welcome to talk him through problems, read and edit his essays for him. More than willing to do whatever it takes for Lance to get grades that make him smile. Will do anything to ease Lance’s embodying stress as the campus slips into exam season. 

_You’re worth it to me_ becomes the Keith and Lance version of _I love you._

~

Later, when a solid foot of snow covers the entire campus and Lance is 100% sure the flowers are out of his system, Keith takes the box down from its hiding spot and takes the time to place the contents between individual pages of a thick book, compressing the leaves and flowers and stems just like he used to do with 4 leaf clovers as a kid. 

He waits a week, then takes the petals and flowers and stems from the book and spends special time gluing them, piece by precious piece, into a picture frame. He wants it to serve as a constant reminder that no matter what happens to them, individually or as the plural they’ve become, they can get through it together. 

He knows that things like this take time to heal. Knows that the intrusive thoughts and the planets that spin self-doubt and disbelief around Lance’s head don’t just stop because someone now thinks he’s worth it.

Keith figures it’ll be a long journey working through Lance’s depression and insecurities, but he’s fully prepared to be there for him. Through the best of things and the worst, no matter how bad they get. Besides, if they managed to survive the flowered shit show that life suddenly decided to throw at them and emerge victoriously hand in hand on the other side, they can get through anything. 

When he’s finished, Keith gives the frame to Lance for Christmas. His eyes light up like he thinks it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen, and then he stares at it quietly for so long that for a moment, Keith’s worried that he fucked the whole thing up. But then Lance turns to him and smiles so brightly that Keith has to work overtime to get the world to reorient itself around a new sun. 

“Keith…” Lance says, voice so soft and eyes so full of awe that Keith thinks he’ll shatter into a million shards under Lance’s heavy gaze. “This- it’s gorgeous, oh my god.” 

Keith’s glad that Lance likes it, because gifting someone art of the flowers that brought them to the knife edge of death is risky, and that could have gone a lot worse than it did. 

But Lance looks so full of love and wonder and awe and Keith’s heart is full to the brim. 

When Lance leans forward, Keith’s already there to meet him halfway. 

In the same way that everything has changed, not much is different between the two of them at all.The kissing, though, is something Keith never knew he wanted so damn much. There’s nothing in the world that compares to the taste of the lips of the boy who you would set the world on fire for. 

When they eventually pull apart and unwrap the rest of the gifts under the tree, Keith feels so light and carefree and so full of love for this boy that he’s surprised he can breathe at all. His chest is tight and his throat is dry and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They take the frame out after and Lance decides to hang it on the wall above the couch like it’s a thousand dollar piece of artwork. 

To them, Keith supposes, it kinda maybe sorta is.

_‘You have to learn to love yourself before you can love someone else’_

It’s an infamous saying that Keith’s heard time and time again. 

But no, he doesn’t think that’s actually true.

Lance laughs loud and boisterous as he unwraps a gift that Pidge made Keith stick under the tree last minute. His hair is a mess and he’s wearing the ugliest spiderman pajamas that Keith’s ever seen in his life. 

And then there’s his face: soft yet battle worn in all the right places. Brow relaxed, eyes crinkled with laughter, nose scrunched in that deliciously cute manner of his. Mouth spread wide enough that both rows of perfectly white teeth are shining in stark contrast to tanned skin. The freckles that dust his cheeks and sprinkle across the bridge of his nose sparkle like dusty stars in the glow of the lights from their Christmas tree. And he decides that there is not a single feature on Lance’s face that he doesn’t already love. 

_No,_ Keith thinks, _whoever said that had it all backwards. You can hate yourself and love someone else, because that’s what Lance has been doing for me since I don’t even know when, and it almost killed him._

Keith looks at Lance and thinks, _it’s a slow process, but loving someone else is probably what enables you to begin to learn how to love yourself in the first place._

Keith looks at Lance and thinks, _there’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do for you to realise how much you’re worth it._

And Lance looks back, just as he’s been doing for months, and Keith knows that the struggle for self-worth is an uphill battle that won't be won overnight. 

And that’s fine, because they’ve got an eternity ahead of them to figure it all out. 

~

> _Here’s to infinity_  
Waiting around the corner, just out of sight  
You won't defeat us; we’ll still be here  
Long into the eternal night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming on this journey with me!
> 
> Love you all <3
> 
> As always, comments and key smashes are more than welcome :) :) 
> 
> come yell at me:  
https://three-chan.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Next update will be in a couple of days and from there hopefully every week. Your feedback and kudos and comments are much appreciated <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Don't be afraid to come yell at me on Tumblr  
https://three-chan.tumblr.com/


End file.
